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Because I am almost out of ideas. I have added staff. I have committed resources. I have promised rewards for those lumpen proles who please my corporate masters. I have brought the sword to those who have stumbled and fallen short of the minimum requirements of their position.

UNEMPLOYMENT. You’re soaking in it, motherfucker.

And yet, the downward spiral continues. Just today, I was mentioning to our managers how we used to have this same lack of motivation and piss-poor attitude in the Dallas office, years ago. “Oh, really? Well, how did they turn it around, Jeff?”

THEY DIDN’T.

I feel like the dickhead in Glengarry Glen Ross. “Third prize is you’re fired. Oh – have I got your attention now?” What really pisses me off is that we have some really good employees who are in danger of losing their jobs because their managers and their co-workers don’t give a fuck if they lose this client and ALL their jobs along with it. Because they’re a bunch of Johnny Punchclock motherfuckers who’ll just bounce from one entry-level job to the next until they figure out how to claim permanent disability from Carpal Tunnel Syndrome or Moldovian dick-rot from banging the girl with the thick accent and weird cat-eye eyeliner thing. The Makeup Gun was definitely set to “whore” for that one.

The obvious answer is to replace everyone. The problem is that there is no time. And now the cocksuckers who got themselves into this mess are the ones who I have to motivate to get us out of this mess. More importantly, you fine people are going for days without fresh dick jokes, vulgarity and vitriol. I had a primer about the Game of Thrones novels in mind, but I’ve either been at work, at home logged into work, or drinking away the rage between logging off and falling asleep so I can do it all over again. More later, but I’m so fucking tired right now.

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There’s a reason that professional soccer hasn’t really caught on in America. Part of it is that it’s a low-scoring game, often ending in ties, a condition usually unsatisfying to American audiences who are conditioned to offensively-weighted battles on the football field, basketball court and baseball diamond. Part of it is that it is a complex game, full of complex yet subtle intracacies of positioning and defensive maneuvering.

But mostly, because it is a stupid sport championed by the biggest pussies on the planet: Europeans.

Saturday night, The Empress of Jeff, myself and another couple were winding down after dinner in a local pub, which had the Euro Cup 2012 game between Russia and Greece playing on several televisions. We were having a good time ignoring it and drinking beer when my friend’s eyes got wide and he said, “Would you Look. At. This. Shit.”

I spun around in my seat to see a Greek soccer player rolling around on the turf, clutching his leg in agony. Big fucking deal – these soccer pussies are constantly taking dives and screwing their faces up in agony; you’d swear they had blown an ACL – but then they hop right back up after a few seconds and keep playing, like the little bitches they are.

But this dude wasn’t getting up. Next thing you know, a stretcher crew is on the way out to get him, and I’m feeling kind of like an asshole.

***CLAP CLAP CLAP*** “‘s’alright, buddy! Good hustle out there!”

And as soon as his stretcher got to the sidelines, HE HOPPED OFF THAT MOTHERFUCKER AND RAN BACK ONTO THE FIELD.

Yeah. It’s a miracle. Fuck you, lameass.

Greece goes on to win, partly because they don’t stop the clock in soccer for any reason, so this faking cocksucker eats up 5 minutes of the clock, and nobody does a damn thing. In what fucking society is this looked upon as okay?

IN EUROPEAN SOCIETY.

No wonder their bullshit economic clusterfucked Eurozone experiment is swirling down the shitter – look who makes up the test subjects! Weak, craven, devious and shameless. Why the fuck would we ever pay good money to sit in a stadium and watch 90 minutes of underweight nancy-boys pretend to be injured, while we pretend to be concerned only to pretend to then call it “strategy” when it is revealed, AGAIN, that the “athlete” on the field clutching his leg like Lawrence Taylor just snapped that motherfucker in half is faking it?

Not in my country, you hairy-backed savages. This is exactly why we had to go over there twice in the last century to unfuck your slapfights. We don’t need you infecting our brave men with your weakness.

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I don’t know if you’ve ever heard the Bob Costas interview with Jerry Sandusky. Creepy. Very creepy. And not at all helpful in establishing his innocence. It went something like this (paraphrased):

COSTAS: “Are you attracted to young boys?”

SANDUSKY: “Well, I’ve always been attracted to young people. I enjoy being close to them.”

BZZZZZZZZT!!!

The correct answer was “NO! Of course not!” But this creepy bastard kept skirting around the questions, like he was trying to defend his actions without coming right out and saying he was a child-rapist. I thought it was bad enough. But that was only the parts that NBC decided to air. The parts that were the LEAST creepy.

Sandusky reflected on how some of his interactions with children may have been misinterpreted, but hey, look at all the thousands of kids that HAVEN’T accused me of raping them. I mean, percentage wise, that’s pretty good, right? Right?

Costas then challenged Joe Paterno’s one-time defensive coordinator, saying, “But isn’t what you’re just describing the classic MO of many pedophiles? And that is that they gain the trust of young people, they don’t necessarily abuse every young person. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of young boys you came into contact with, but there are allegations that at least eight of them were victimized.

“So it’s entirely possible that you could’ve helped young boy A in some way that was not objectionable while horribly taking advantage of young boy B, C, D and E. Isn’t that possible?” Costas asked Sandusky during the interview.

Sandusky gave an unusual reply.

“Well — you might think that. I don’t know. In terms of — my relationship with so many, many young people. I would — I would guess that there are many young people who would come forward. Many more young people who would come forward and say that my methods and — and what I had done for them made a very positive impact on their life.

And I didn’t go around seeking out every young person for sexual needs that I’ve helped. There are many that I didn’t have — I hardly had any contact with who I have helped in many, many ways,” he added.

Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhh…

Once again, you’re refusing to deny that you raped several children. On video.

I’m thinking you’re going away for a very long time, shitbird. Hell ain’t hot enough for vermin like you, but I guess it’ll do.

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You see them on the streets every day – slowing down traffic by taking up just enough of the lane so that no one can pass without risking slamming head-on into oncoming traffic.

Alone, they are irritating, usually causing no more than a half-minute’s delay before the opportunity presents itself to jerk the wheel around them and cathartically mash the accelerator to the floor as a proxy for stomping the shit out of the snotty, entitled shithead holding up the entire planet.

The manslaughter charges — unusually stiff for a bicycle accident — stem from a March 29 incident, when 36-year-old bicyclist Chris Bucchere allegedly ran a red traffic light and plowed into 71-year-old Sutchi Hui in a crosswalk. Hui died on April 2 of injuries related to the collision, The Wall Street Journal reported Saturday.

This is the problem with these assholes. They’re constantly beaking off about how they have the same “rights” as car drivers to be on the road. What they NEVER talk about, or even acknowledge, is that they also have the same RESPONSIBILITIES as any other vehicle operator. Stopping at stop signs? Fuck that, I don’t want to have to switch gears, so I’ll just make a left turn in front of you and blaze through that three-way intersection, causing three cars to slam on their brakes.

Fuck you and your sissy-assed ball-hugging shorts, you selfish jerkoffs. You’re not a “peloton.” You’re a bunch of annoying dicks. Take one of those bananas that you so ostentatiously display in the back pocket of your spandex shirt and shove it up your ass. It’s about time that one of you were charged with a serious crime for your self-centered asshattery.

Now scoot the fuck over before you taste some truck side-mirror, asshole. You’re making me late for work.

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I apologize for the long absence. This past week has seen me entirely absorbed in the ongoing turmoil at work. Tasked (very late) with analyzing and reversing the spiraling downtrend of an underperforming division, we’ve lost one ten-year client this week and have been put on notice by another long-time client. Both of the managers in this division are twenty-year company men, so my work environment as of late has been a gladiatorial combat arena of backbiting, recriminations, feather-smoothing, blame shifting, finger pointing, denials, obfuscations, veiled threats and emotional beatings.

For all its planes and vans mapping out the world, there have been places even Google cannot reach.

Now thanks to its latest weapon, the internet giant will be able to chart everywhere from the depths of the jungle to the narrowest city alley.

Its backpack camera, which is carried by a trekker on foot, will be able to get to places that Google wings and wheels cannot.

The device, a more portable version of its controversial Street View cameras, is able to go ‘offroad’, potentially photographing and mapping everywhere from the base of the Grand Canyon to the top of Everest.

PORTABLE.You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Awesome. On a side note, did you ever imagine that this would be the face of Big Brother? Or that your first reaction to seeing someone wearing this rig wouldn’t be fear, dread or despair but rather the urge to issue swirlies, wedgies and Purple Nerples?

And sure, the fucking geekwads tasked with lugging this ungainly Dildo Pack are going to have the muscular strength and endurance to lug the fucking thing up and down the Grand Canyon. Right. The real answer is that the view from the street isn’t explicit enough, so expect to see this thing through the slit in your curtains, watching you shamefully fap to your collection of Japanese anime.

That’s right, Sailor Moon. Daddy’s got some tentacle for you.

I expect next week to be even more fun, but I do believe I can manage to sneak in a few posts. Happy Father’s Day to all you Morons out there who have kids. I am looking forward to grilling some animal flesh and sleeping off my meat hangover in the shade.

That’ll have to do until Pixy gets registration set up at the HQ. Which I take to mean – might as well get comfortable.

UPDATE: I don’t know who the fuck “Bill” is and I don’t care to speculate on what your motivation is. So let me explain it to you like this: trying to slide in your bullshit unsubstantiated accusations on a dead post about BK or anybody else isn’t going to work, fucko. I get an instant email notification, log your IP address and then delete your comment. This is the same type of fuckery that caused Ace to go dark and I’m not having it.